I hold a once-lifeIt shall remain here sleeping.Resting in my handIt gave its breath keeping,Its heat to give back,Its heart nevermore beating.The wings no longer carryIts small form into the skyIt simply lays hereWhile I,I held a once-life and it remains there dreaming.

I long for the days to grow shorter.
The heat to fade and the cold to grow harsher.
Spring only leads to summer, and fall not close enough,
Throughout the year, too much tangled up stuff.
Give me the storms and rain and snow,
As long as their wind remains cold.
Until the sun grows cold and gives us less light,
I’ll pretend I’m sleeping, I’ll pretend it’s night.

She is awoken by voices,
She is alone.
In a strange place
She calls home.
Echoing off the walls,
In the midst of silence found,
They who have no name,
Each of their words resound.
She hates the silence,
It’s when they are so loud.
Whatever noise she can make
To ward off absent sound.
There is a voice she fears above most,
The one who, from the silence, boasts.
She hates his persistence.
She is insistent that he leave.
She fails and fails and fails again.
Any other voice from the din!
The many shout at her,
She does not give in.
But the one quietly calls,
From behind a door that’s cracked open
When the others leave.
He calls to her, her fears.
Things forgotten from across the years,
And then she remembers why
They were pushed aside.
Then in her heart
She deeply wishes the voices to depart.
And she hears
So softly in her ear,
Him whisper:
“You will believe us absent, asleep,
You will rejoice in your soul deep.
You will forget what I tell you now
And you will remember each time we return our sound
You, in your fear, may not belong,
And we will never truly be gone.”

She closed her eyes,
And awoke alone; or so she was told.
She rose to the window,
And thought the sun too bright to be this cold.

An element of rust remains
Upon the earth and what it contains.
No matter what rain may come
Still there’s rust when the day is done.
Iron towers crumble, boulders fade before the wind.
A question of death and the wages of sin.
Why should you wonder? Put it from your mind.
Rust to soil, then back to human kind.
Imperfect decay, gives birth to perfect form: us.
In all this there’s at least one word to trust,
Life is life, and death is death,
And from both we must make the best.

I don’t remember waking up, I am simply here.
Much like this, my dying then, will one day appear.
Between day and night, this transition,
Between waking and dreaming, those conditions,
The boundary seemed to fade.
Across this river, there was no toll that my soul was meant to pay.
Suddenly I’m dreaming, and just the same awake.
Suddenly I don’t remember when my sleep was forced to break.
Later I shall tire and to another dream then drift,
Where afterwards I’ll remain unable to recall such a rift.

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About this site

ChainsawPenguin is a collection of some of my writings, mostly poems, that I've put together based on content. Please share any comments, criticism, or questions you may have as I would love to hear from you and I would be appreciative of the feedback.
I hope that you will enjoy reading my works as much as I have enjoyed writing them. Thanks for the visit!
-Lee